


The Strong One

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At home, Merry was the strong one. But here, what use is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strong One

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a genuine [](http://shirebound.livejournal.com/profile)[**shirebound**](http://shirebound.livejournal.com/) plotbunny!
> 
> So, I wrote this for [](http://baranduin.livejournal.com/profile)[**baranduin**](http://baranduin.livejournal.com/)'s interspecies remix, compiled at [](http://breelanders.livejournal.com/profile)[**breelanders**](http://breelanders.livejournal.com/), where I had the honor of being assigned to write for [](http://danachan.livejournal.com/profile)[**danachan**](http://danachan.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Title: The Strong One  
> Writing for: [](http://danachan.livejournal.com/profile)[**danachan**](http://danachan.livejournal.com/)  
> Name of original fic: [With and Without](http://dana.rosiesamfrodo.com/writing/fan/waw.htm)  
> Rating: PG  
> Pairing (if slash): Boromir/Merry/Pippin  
> Summary: At home, Merry was the strong one. But here, what use is he?  
> Warnings: Nightmares, kisses, physical functions.

_Darkness._

Thick close darkness squeezing in on him, cords of pain winding stronger and tighter, the willow's water lullaby shifted to a distant mocking song.

And darkness.

Fire, and flaring, and the crushing threat: "Put it out! Put it out! He'll squeeze me in two! PUT IT OUT!"

Merry sat bolt upright, gasping, just barely remembering not to scream. Pippin's arms and the blanket tangled him so that he pushed them away, but at least they weren't malevolent wood; it was pitch dark before his staring eyes, but still a more open darkness than the crushing dark within Old Man Willow. The Fellowship lay huddled together against the vast empty dark of Moria, but at this moment the endless openness was an improvement over the dreadful dream.

"Merry?" Pippin whispered, as Merry gulped air and willed his heart to slow its pounding; Pippin's arm wound round Merry again, clinging and stifling, and it was all he could do not to shove it away, but Pip didn't know his dream, didn't deserve such treatment. "Shh," Merry whispered back, making himself be gentle as he unwound Pippin's arm and kissed his brow. "Shh, sleep. I just need to make water." As Merry clambered over him Pippin squeaked a token protest, but neither the sound nor the smile Merry knew Pippin wore could lighten him in all this darkness, engulfing them without and now filling Merry within.

They all had their burdens on this journey, and Merry had not come to be a burden. He shook his head, rather wishing that might dislodge the lingering remnants of the dark dream, and stepped a careful ten paces away to the crack in the floor they'd found earlier.

 

*

Merry's bladder was soon lighter, but his thoughts were not. Moria was dark and cheerless, vast and foreboding enough to overshadow even Gandalf and tall Aragorn and mighty Boromir, but at least in dreams Merry might have seen sunshine. Instead he'd dreamt of a different darkness, the smothering depths of Old Man Willow, and the dream crowded out memories of sunlight and home till they seemed mere fancies that had never truly been.

Carefully Merry turned, counting off his steps back to the Fellowship; concentrating on the padding of his footsteps falling off into the silence, he struggled to ignore the hissing willow-voice singing in his head that it would be no great matter if he were lost, for what good could he do, one small hobbit? What had he done besides fall into trouble again and again?

_I guessed the riddle of the doors_, he said to himself, reaching out to where Pippin's blanket-covered back should be soon, but the thought was faint enough to fade beneath the mocking song of his own uselessness. At home he'd been sharp-witted and strong-handed, a lad who got things done, but here he was a little hobbit against all the vastnesses of the dark. What could he do? What help could he be?

Something bumped his shoulder, and for the second time in a handful of minutes Merry had to struggle to swallow a scream, even as the embroidered linen and knit wool beneath his hands told him what and who he'd collided with. "Pippin! Why are you up?"

"Why are you?" Pippin replied, hand splaying on Merry's chest, warm breath over his ear. "Your heart is racing; did you wake from a foul dream?"

Merry tried to say no, but it came out a choked sigh, and he could only nod; Pippin's mouth brushed his cheek as he replied, "Tell me, then; you've always said telling a nightmare eases it."

"Oh, Pippin." Telling a nightmare was for firelight and candlelight and featherbeds, where one might drag fear out into warmth and laugh as it was melted away to nothing, not for the gloom of Moria and further burdening his young cousin. Merry shook his head, right into a broad calloused hand.

Merry's heart lifted so precipitously it caught in his throat. How had Boromir moved so silently in the darkness? "Pippin speaks truly," Boromir murmured as he knelt on Merry's other side; he swept his arm up round their shoulders to pull them both within his cloak, wrapping them in warm cloth and his warmer, deeper scent. "Tell us what troubled your sleep."

Tucking his head beneath Boromir's chin, Merry leaned against a broad muscled chest; he rubbed his cheek against warm grubby velvet, and Boromir cupped his head in his hand, tracing his ear-point with two fingertips. For a long moment it was unearthly quiet, just the sound of their three heartbeats, their low breathing, and beyond all the deep silence of Moria. It was even more difficult to push words out against that heavy quiet, and Merry squared his shoulders as he drew a deep breath. "It's---"

"Don't you dare say 'nothing', Merry Brandybuck," Pippin insisted, poking Merry's nose with his fingertip as unerringly as if they could see. "Don't you dare! It was not nothing that woke you so. You shook like a frightened rabbit!" Before Merry could retort Boromir breathed a quiet chuckle and stroked his hair, and Merry sighed and let go. "I dreamt of Old Man Willow."

"That nasty old hunk of kindling?" Pippin replied, then explained to Boromir, "We told you of the queer wild Old Forest on the border of Buckland, to westward of the Shire? Well, led by---" Pippin paused, and rethought his words so obviously Merry might almost have laughed. "Well, we came to a wicked old willow-tree who sang us to sleep, then tried to swallow me and Merry and to drown Frodo. Tom Bombadil saved us, though there'd've been naught to save but for good old Sam."

"Hmmm. A tree alive, and cruel?" Boromir asked; cheered a bit, Merry nodded against his chest. Pippin's recounting had brought back the memory of jolly Tom Bombadil, his apple-red face and blue-feathered hat and laughing songs. Warmed to his tale, Pippin continued, "The trees of the Old Forest are strange like that. That's why the Brandybucks built the High Hay, and---"

"---and perhaps we'll tell Boromir of this some fitter time," Merry broke in, thinking maybe they might return to sleep if Pippin didn't prattle on till Gandalf called it morning.

Pippin snorted. "You must be feeling better, if you're up to scolding me."

Boromir laughed quietly at that, squeezing them both a little. "So the darkness about us brought forth a dark dream," he said. "I have not my brother's skill in telling truth out of dreams, but this one seems clear enough. In a place of danger, your mind calls up past dangers of its kin, that you might remember how you came through them and so come through the present trial. It is often so with soldiers."

"Well, there you have it," said Pippin cheerfully, and Merry wished to be reassured, but somehow instead he felt worse again, cold and hot, angry and frightened. "But survived because we were _rescued_," he retorted, frustration mounting. "And then again in Bree by Aragorn, as if we're helpless. I didn't come with Frodo to be helpless, but to help him in his Quest!"

Hearing faint echoes of his voice, Merry pressed his mouth tightly shut; Pippin reached up to stroke his lips, then tucked his hand between Merry's cheek and Boromir's jerkin. "Oh," Pippin said, as if understanding something at last.

Merry found this quite provoking. "'Oh' what, Pippin?"

Pippin giggled, muffled presumably by his other hand. "Oh, now I know what troubles you so. But do _you_ know?" He sounded far too pleased with himself.

With reason, Merry realized in the next moment, as he understood himself, as his cheeks prickled hot and he wished he might throw his head back and laugh. "Oh, Pip. I am a fool, aren't I?"

Pippin gently pinched Merry's cheek before stroking it again, soothing as if he were the elder. "Then you match me," he said, and Merry could hear his smile. "Come to think, Boromir, the closest we have at home to mighty warriors such as you, besides myself of course, is Meriadoc Brandybuck, tall strong hobbit that he is."

"Oh, hush," Merry said, feeling better with every light word from Pippin's mouth, with Boromir's chuckle and warmth. "Besides, you left off 'bright'."

Pippin humphed. "I was getting there, if you'd let me speak."

"Peace, Pippin," Boromir said, laughter thrumming through his hushed voice, and Merry heard him kiss Pippin's brow, then felt a beard-fringed kiss on his own. "Shall I tell you then how I passed the night before my second battle?"

_His second battle?_, Merry wondered. "Not your first?"

"No, before my first I slept soundly, and dreamt foolishly of easy glory. Before my second...." Boromir's chuckle was rueful. "I knew now what a battle was, and all the night before my second I lay wakeful and shivering with fear, thinking on my City and my brother and my father, on all I hoped I would see again if I might just survive the day. When I attempted breakfast I puked it up again."

Pippin giggled, and even though he muffled it Merry's laughter shook loose some fearful knot within him. "Oh, Boromir, that sounds just awful."

"I have passed more pleasant nights, before and since." They all three chuckled at that. "And you have fairer nights before you than in this darksome place." Called up by Boromir's voice, memories of the world outside returned, sunlit and bright and real beyond Moria's night.

"My little warriors," Boromir went on, at once tenderly and with a note in his voice of horn-call and sword-clash, of battlefields and victories; Pippin drew in his breath, and Merry felt his spine straighten, felt his sword as if he gripped it. "My stalwart lads, you have tasted danger, it would be mad did you not fear. But fear will not unknit your sinews or weaken your arms; when next you face battle, I know you will fight with courage and strength."

Boromir's hand curled firm and steady round Merry's shoulder, and Merry felt it brace him, felt Boromir's words echo through him, felt the dream loose its hold and give way before the boldness and fire stirred in him. He drew breath to thank Boromir, then thought better of it, leaned close, and kissed him with fervent gratitude, and Boromir smiled against his mouth and kissed him back. Not to be outdone, Pippin got a good fistful of Merry's curls, tugged him over, and kissed him as well, so sweetly familiar Merry could almost see him in the darkness.

No, when Merry opened his eyes he _could_see Pippin faintly, a tiny twinkle in one bright eye, the merest outline of his sharp nose as Pippin turned with a gasp and a soft cry of "look!" and pointed.

Light, through the northern arch, soft and warm and distant; light in Merry's memory, banishing the last wisps of the dream. "A fair morning, my halflings," Boromir murmured with one last, warm squeeze before he stood. "We had best rejoin our companions." Who lay like low hills in the faint light, curled in their blankets, Gimli on watch like a higher ridge. With a parting touch Boromir returned to his bedroll, and Pippiin wound his fingers through Merry's as they stepped back to theirs; Boromir's words drowning out the willow-song, Pippin's hand warm in his, Merry looked at Pippin's profile against the distant light and felt hopeful, and strong.


End file.
